


Apology Accepted, Trust Declined

by bittersweetlapse



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Coming of Age, F/M, Friendship, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Sibling Rivalry, TW: Homophobia, Trans Male Character, newtina, tw: parental abuse, tw: transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetlapse/pseuds/bittersweetlapse
Summary: Newton Artemis Fido Scamander hadn’t always been the renowned magizoologist's full name. In fact, the first two were in reverse order when he was born (Fido he later picked out himself). His parents’ logic was that carrying the name of a famous Muggle physicist would humble their second child.He seriously doubted that they intended him to adopt it full-time, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello, kiri's back with LOTS OF PROJECTION!!!
> 
> **if you are at all concerned about my interpretation of newt as transgender,[please read this post from my tumblr.](http://chlmera.tumblr.com/post/180538932015/are-you-writing-a-trans-newt-fanfic-because-owo)**

“Artemis, it’s time for dinner,” scolds Mrs. Scamander from across the house. Locked in her room, poised in front of a mirror with a knife and several chunks of her long dust-colored hair in hand, Artemis, age nine, only half-hears her mother’s beckoning. She’s far too focused on getting the angle of the sharp, antique silver knife just right.

Mrs. Scamander knocks none-too-gently on the locked door. “For heaven’s sake, your food will get cold--” She stops at the unmoving doorknob and adds, exasperated, _“Alohomora.”_

As the handle twists open reluctantly, a chunk of hair falls to the floor. Artemis flinches and scrambles to put down the knife on the nearby dresser, but it’s too late. 

An angry shout echoes through the house, and downstairs, seated at the dinner table, Theseus winces. A moment later, his little sister trudges down the stairs, closely followed by the yowling Mrs. Scamander. The left side of Artemis’s neck is exposed by a sloppy bob cut, while the rest of her hair continues down her shoulders. She’s also switched from a dress and stockings into a pair of Theseus’s old trousers and an ill-fitting white shirt buttoned to the throat. Their father takes one look at her and simply heaves a sigh, putting his head against his palm. However, Mrs. Scamander is red in the face and squealing like a teakettle. 

“What’s gotten into you?” she snaps, angrily pulling out the chair in front of Artemis’s plate at the table. “First the Bowtruckles in the house, and now _this_?”

Artemis says nothing, staring at the floor, not moving to sit down. Her socks are two different colors and one is slipping off her right foot, like she had been trying on shoes earlier.

“It’s been growing out for years,” Mrs. Scamander continues, still incensed, standing arms akimbo at the head of the table. “You have such lovely, thick hair...why are you trying to make yourself look like a boy? Do you _want_ people to think you’re ugly?”

Artemis opens her mouth, her light eyes flickering from her mother to Theseus in a silent plea for backup, then closes it again as nothing from her brother is forthcoming. “No,” she mumbles eventually.

Their father interjects, his thick brows creasing together, “Artemis, you’ve been acting out lately. Why are you making this so difficult for us? We just want you to be happy.”

“I don’t want to upset either of you,” Artemis says, very quietly, and seats herself at the table next to Theseus. Mrs. Scamander rolls her eyes, as if to say _Well, you already have,_ but begins to serve the food (roast duck with gravy and a side of green beans and mashed potatoes), spooning a medium amount on her own plate and two larger portions for Theseus and Mr. Scamander. When she gets to Artemis’s side, she stops and says, in a gentler tone, “How much would you like, darling?”

“Oh,” her daughter replies, twisting the fabric of her overlarge shirt between her fingers, “I’m--I’m not hungry.” In a betraying response, her stomach growls under the table.

Theseus can see the next outburst from their mother coming up, and hastily tries to save his sister, saying, “Missy--just eat, won’t you?” Unfortunately, Artemis catches on just a moment too late, leaving Mrs. Scamander to narrow her eyes to slits once more. As she starts to spit something about how ungrateful one has to be to refuse a lovely home-cooked meal, _one in her daughter’s position, no less,_ Artemis bows her head and takes a roll from the basket, setting it in the center of her plate with all the enthusiasm of a mortician at work. 

Mr. Scamander creases his brow even more deeply, but says nothing except for “Theseus, please pass the gravy.” 

The next few minutes are conducted in relative silence as three out of four Scamanders eat their respective meals. Artemis can feel her mother’s eyes burning into her skull, but can’t bring herself to take anything but bird-sized bites of the bread in front of her. 

“So, son,” Mr. Scamander says finally, breaking the grave quiet around the table, “Are you excited to go back to Hogwarts after this summer break? Starting your seventh year, eh?” 

Theseus nods. “Yes, and I’ve been studying for my upcoming NEWTs.” (Artemis looks up abruptly at the mention of the tests, but quickly directs her gaze back to the bowl of mashed potatoes, taking a tiny spoonful.) 

Mr. Scamander strokes his beard, continuing, “I’m sure you’ll do well. You’re still looking into shadowing Aurors during your second term, yes?” When Theseus nods again, a pleased smile breaks out onto his father’s face. “Well done, well done. They’ll make a Minister out of you yet.”

Theseus says nothing for a moment, seeming uncomfortable with the attention, then hesitantly asks, “Missy, how’re the hippogriffs doing?”

Artemis visibly brightens, raising her head up, and says, “Clawstone is doing well, though she’s still getting over her mite problem, so we shouldn’t take her out of quarantine yet. Viridian’s chick is doing well, if a bit clingy. Oh, and Letty needs her wing feathers clipped and talons trimmed--I almost ripped my shirt on those claws of hers!” She grins and glances around the table, but when no smiles are forthcoming, her own disappears as she shrinks back slightly, adding in a mumble, “I mean...my dress.”

Stone-faced, Mrs. Scamander says, “After dinner, I expect you to wash the dishes and leave the hippogriffs’ nightly routines to me. Change into your nightdress as well--I won’t have you running around the house in trousers.” When Artemis looks appalled and opens her mouth to argue, her mother adds in a raised voice, “You shouldn’t be doing that dirty work anyway. You’re far too young to be taking care of those beasts--you could be trampled or as you astutely pointed out, clawed to death.”

“Mum--” Artemis pleads. Mrs. Scamander raises her eyebrow, cutting her daughter off. “No buts. After what you pulled with your ridiculous haircut, you should consider yourself lucky that we aren’t being more forceful with you.” She taps her fingers on the table, considering, and adds, “Frederick, dear, would you mind whipping up a growth potion for Artemis’s hair after supper?”

Theseus helplessly stares at his fork as their father uncomfortably nods in agreement. Artemis lowers her gaze, but Theseus can see her fists clenched under the table. 

“Missy,” he whispers, leaning closer to his sister as their parents exchange the dishes of green beans for the platter of duck and begin to make small talk, “Just--just go with Mum and Dad’s wishes this time, won't you?”

Artemis turns to him, not quite meeting his eyes. She mumbles, “It’s easy for you.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s easy for you,” she says, a little louder, “to be the perfect son.” 

Theseus stares at her, his gut twisting. “Talk after dinner?”

“Alright,” Artemis replies after some hesitation, her voice small.

“Loves,” their mother says knowingly, breaking apart the siblings with her not-to-be-argued-with tone, “Pie or strudel for dessert?”

\---

After the table is cleared and the dishes are done (courtesy of the wandless Artemis), Theseus watches her watch their mother go outside to the hippogriff stables alone. As she’s staring longingly at the closing door, Theseus nudges his sister. “Hey. Talk?” 

When she nods weakly, they traipse upstairs into Theseus’s room, adjacent to Artemis’s. Theseus has barely shut the door before Artemis bursts out, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Theseus asks, flicking his wand at a chair to pull up behind him. He settles in it and looks at his kid sister, but she ignores him, choosing to stand in the middle of the room, swinging her fists anxiously. The long half of her hair swishes behind her, the bobbed, cut side remaining, resolute, at her left ear. 

Artemis’s tone is one of defeat as she mumbles, “How do I be like--be like you?” She kicks the carpet, fixated on the floor. “I’ve tried everything--tying my hair up, wearing your clothes--”

Bitterly amused, Theseus says gently, “Mum and Dad hate it when you dress like a boy, sis.”

“I don’t care!” she exclaims. “The hippogriffs don’t care, either. I don’t see why it matters whether I wear trousers or--or a dress when I’m pouring slop into their troughs!” She pauses to catch her breath, then continues passionately, “Skirts get in my way. I want to be a magical creature caretaker like Mother!”

Her big brother sighs and massages his temples with the world-weariness of a seventeen-year-old who, obviously, has the answers to everything. “Missy, this isn’t about you sneaking Bowtruckles and thestral calves into the house,” he tries. “Mum and Dad are upset because you’re acting like--like you’re male.”

“Why does it matter?” Artemis demands, stomping her foot, the shakiness of her lower lip and voice indicating that she’s close to tears. “So what if I act like a boy? Why can’t I be one?”

Theseus doesn’t have an answer to that. All he manages after a moment is, “You can still be a magizoologist, but...listen, you can’t make yourself into a man. It just…” He trails off. “It just doesn’t work like that.” He pauses again, deep in pensive thought, then adds, “You’re a girl, so you’re supposed to wear dresses, and--and it makes a lot of trouble for everyone when you put on my trousers, alright?”

Artemis finally looks up at him, her eyes glistening. “I’m sorry about that,” she says quietly, after a beat. “I shouldn’t have gone through your things.”

“No! Missy, that’s not the point!” Theseus finds himself growing frustrated, though he’s trying to stay calm. “Can you just--listen to Mum and Dad for _once?_ Please?”

Instantly, he realizes his tone was too harsh. His little sister turns away from him, slouching over in defeat. He can tell how hard she’s trying to disguise her tears, but a little sob comes out anyway. “I’m sorry,” he starts, “I didn’t mean--”

“Artemis?” A knock on the door startles them both. It's their father's voice. “Are you with your brother? I have the potion for your hair.”

She turns towards the door, refusing to face Theseus. “Yes,” she says, her voice thick and small. As the door opens, she orients herself away from her brother so she won’t have to meet his eyes. 

Their father bends down to stand in the doorway, a sad smile on his face. In his hand, he’s got a vial of green liquid. He gestures to Artemis gently, who trudges towards him without another word. 

Theseus wants to apologize, but they close the door before he can find the words, leaving him in an empty room, not quite sure what to do to make things right.


	2. Chapter 2

The Sorting Hat looms on the chair ahead as the timid group of first-years huddle together in the Great Hall, waiting for the magical object’s verdict on their futures. After a “Sanchez, Katelyn” gets sorted into Griffindor, the hat coughs knowingly as she walks towards the cheering mass of red and gold scarves, then calls, “Scamander, Artemis.”

Artemis, age eleven, winces slightly, as always, at the mention of her name, but says nothing as she walks up to the battered old hat. She regards it with trepidation before picking it up, perching on the stool, and setting it on her head. Then, though she’s watched everyone else go before her and knows full well what’s about to happen, she flinches as the hat speaks. 

“Little Artemis...hmm,” the gravelly voice says in her ear. “You’re certainly an enigma.”

Artemis squeezes her eyes shut, not sure if she’s supposed to reply out loud or mentally or at all. The hat chuckles like a lifetime smoker and continues, “Ah, so you aren’t fond of that name, are you? Well, don’t let me stop you. What would you like to be called instead?”

Her eyes stay shut. She whispers, “I don’t care about what house I’m in.” _My brother was a Griffindor._

“Ah, so you’re related to young Theseus? Now, there’s a model student.” The hat moves slightly on her head like it’s considering its options. “You didn’t answer my question...but I suppose that’s not my place to ask. For now, I say you belong in HUFFLEPUFF!”

Artemis feels slightly seasick as the crowd to the upper left of her begins to cheer wildly. She hastily takes the Sorting Hat off her head, not daring to look at the strange folds in the fabric staring back at her, and walks in a daze to the Hufflepuff side of the Great Hall. A tall boy with slicked-back blonde hair grins at her. “Welcome to the ‘Puff family, kiddo.” She nods back weakly, not meeting his eyes, and settles on a bench attached to the long table.

The rest of the sorting ceremony passes in a blur, mostly because they’re at the end of the alphabet, but also due to Artemis’s incessant thoughts clambering around her head: _You didn’t get Griffindor like Theseus--but at least you didn’t get Slytherin. Well, you got the cooking and boring house. Maybe that suits you?_

Finally, once the ceremony is over, the headmaster concludes his speech and waves from his podium, signaling that the feast is about to begin. Before everyone’s ravenous eyes, platters of food appear on the long tables. It looks delicious, but Artemis has next to no appetite. The whole way to Hogwarts--from her solitary train ride to the equally solitary boat ride to the castle proper--has been nothing but social anxiety. What is she supposed to do when nobody wants to sit with the strange, light-eyed and freckled little girl on the Hogwarts Express who stutters when she talks and can’t make good eye contact? (A couple of second-year students sat in her booth and introduced themselves at the beginning, but upon hearing Artemis’s excited and lengthy rambling about the beauty of blind, cave-dwelling fish, excused themselves to go “visit some other friends down the aisle”. They didn’t come back.)

 _Well,_ Artemis thinks, _at least no one is going to make me eat my food here._ She stares under the table at her tightly clasped hands, hoping against hope that any of the people on all sides might choose to speak to her. But looking around, all her fellow Hufflepuff first-years have already glued themselves to groups of three or more, and Artemis simply has no idea how to add herself to an existing conversation. _No one wants to hear about how the hippogriffs at home are going to notice you’re gone, Missy._

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Artemis notices the blonde boy who had greeted her warmly earlier a little ways down the table. He’s laughing and joking with several of his friends, all of whom look like they might be in their fifth or sixth year. Her heart begins to race as she realizes that if she doesn’t make any sort of move in this beginning phase, this initial socialization period, that she’ll be stuck friendless until classes start, and possibly even after that. 

Plucking up all her courage, she gets up from the table, shouldering her bag, and whispers “Excuse me...pardon me…” until she makes her way down the table to where he’s sitting. Someone has just told a joke that’s making him and his posse of friends laugh uproariously.

Artemis waits until the laughter has died down slightly, but by that time the boy has noticed her awkwardly standing there. He smiles crookedly and leans on his fist as he turns in her direction. “Well, well. How’s it going, little first-year?”

“I’m...I’m doing alright,” she gets out. The boy grins knowingly at the friend sitting closest to him and continues, “Oh, yeah? Wanna tell us about your first day?”

Hesitantly looking over the four or so faces looking inquisitively at her, Artemis decides that Hufflepuff is the friendly house, supposedly, and besides, this boy welcomed her to the family at the beginning. “Well...I didn’t have anyone to sit on the train with,” she begins, shifting her weight slightly, “and I got splashed on the boats across the lake. But...you know, I’m excited to be here. I like…I mean, I’m excited for Care of Magical Creatures.”

The boy nods, nods, and continues to nod until after she’s done talking, looking, for some reason, like he’s trying not to smile, or maybe like he’s heavily considering her words. “Oh, I see...I see.” Then he shakes his head, languidly shrugging his shoulders and stifling a yawn. “Sorry--say all that again, I wasn’t paying attention.”

His friends, on closer inspection, all seem to be barely holding back laughter. It takes Artemis a minute to process this, but she decides to try again. “Oh, um, I just said that I didn’t have anyone to sit with on the train, and--”

“Sorry, what?” one of his friends pipes up, earnestly. “Howard was too busy stuffing his face to listen to you.” 

“Um--I _said_ that I--”

“We can’t hear you,” they say in slightly off-kilter unison, looking alternately up at her and down at their plates of food with badly hidden grins, and that’s when Artemis realizes that they’re not, in fact, considering what she told them at all, but rather making fun of her in a subtle way. She feels the blood rush to her face, and her gaze returns to the stone floor. “I--I just--”

“Oi, first-year,” the first boy says, picking his fingernails lazily. “In case you haven’t picked it up, _we don’t care._ ” He waves his hand and he and his friends dissolve into laughter again. “Ugh, the nerve of these kids, thinking that just ‘cuz they’re sorted into Hufflepuff means everyone’s gonna listen to them.”

Artemis’s face is burning red, and she can tell some other nearby people have picked up on the joke and are also snickering at her misfortune. She stares at her shoes and wordlessly tries to return to her initial spot at the table, but two girls have filled her spot, gossiping idly and not giving her a second glance.

Feeling tears begin to prick her eyes, Artemis looks around wildly for the bathroom or somewhere to hide, and decides that the nearest hallway is as good as any. Picking up her pace, she skitters duck-footed past the Griffindor table and settles against the stone wall, where, mercifully, no one else is in sight. 

Hiccuping she huddles into a ball, holding her bag tightly against her knees, and tries really, really hard not to cry. She fails after about a minute.

“Are you okay?” a small voice says to her side. 

Artemis jolts her head up wildly, glaring fiercely at the new intruder, a girl about her age with curly black hair and wearing Slytherin robes. “Go away!” she gets out with all the vitriol she can manage. Unfortunately, her voice is shaking from crying so much that her words instead come out weak.

The girl takes a cautious step back, but there’s something interesting about her heart-shaped face at a glance: her eyes are also red and wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just thought--did they bully you too?”

Artemis stops, staring at the girl’s shoes (expensive) and robes (brand new) before managing to meet her eyes. They’re dark but warm, like a melting piece of chocolate. Suddenly, there’s a warmth burning in Artemis’s chest that gives her an odd kind of strength, and she’s blushing again, but not out of shame. 

“Yes,” she manages, before staring at the ground between the two of them again. “I thought….I thought they’d be different, but…”

“Hey,” the girl says wanly, sliding down the wall to sit a comfortable distance away from Artemis, “at least you’re not in Slytherin.” She shrugs, coughing quietly in a way that Artemis recognizes as an aftereffect of a crying period. “Hufflepuff’s supposed to be the nice ones.”

“I thought so too,” Artemis whispers, feeling the tears build back into her throat. When they press up against her eyes again, she lets them fall onto her knees. The girl doesn’t watch her, but rather regards the wall across from them politely, a comfortable silence sitting in between.

After a few minutes, Artemis quits crying, wiping her eyes. “Thank you,” she mumbles, glancing at the other girl again. “You’re...really nice.”

She shrugs, smiling sadly. “Hey, we gotta look out for each other. If they’ll hate us just for being who we are, then who are we to question it?” Abruptly, she breaks into a smile. Her teeth are very white and straight. “I’m used to it. You are too, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?” 

“Easy,” she replies, scooting a bit closer to Artemis. With a furtive glance down the hall to make sure no one else is coming, she pulls her wand out of her sleeve and whispers, “ _Lumos_.” The tip of the dark wood hesitates, then lights up feebly.

Artemis can’t help but stare into the soft white light, comforting like the moon. “I didn’t know that spell.”

The girl nods, then points her wand gently at Artemis’s chest. The thin light illuminates the mud spots on her robes, making Artemis flinch, but the other girl only smiles knowingly. “A lot of the people here have hand-me-down robes, but _yours_ have dirt on them. That’s out of the ordinary. That’s _interesting_. So, that means people will be mean to you because it’s _different._ ”

The warm feeling in Artemis’s chest expands from the wandlight through her core. “You’re not...you’re not playing a trick on me, right?”

In response, the girl retracts her wand softly, sliding it back into her sleeve, and shakes her head. “Nope.” She hesitates, then adds, “I’m Leta.”

“Artemis,” Artemis replies hastily, barely meeting Leta’s hot cocoa eyes before having to look away, lest she get overwhelmed. Without overthinking it, she sticks out her hand for a shake. Leta takes it immediately and gives it a good squeeze, then giggles, remarking, “Your hands are so cold!” 

Her laughter isn’t mocking, but rather gentle, melodic like a songbird, making Artemis laugh a little also. The warmth of Leta’s hands makes her reluctant to let go, but eventually she does. Then there’s a loud noise from the Great Hall, to which Leta turns around and remarks, “Oh, I think the feast’s over.”

Bile fills Artemis’s stomach at the mention of going back to the sea of unfamiliar faces, and she guesses it shows on her face, because Leta turns back to her, her expression solemn. 

“Listen, Artemis,” she says quietly, yet resolute. “We have to stick together. Okay? We’re friends now, right?”

Artemis nods slowly. “But--but how am I going to find you?”

Leta tilts her head to the side, thinking, then she proclaims, “Hufflepuffs and Slytherins share some classes, so I’m sure I’ll see you then. I don’t know where the house rooms are yet, but...I’ll find you. I promise.”

Artemis hesitates, then feels a smile grow on her face. “Okay. Pinky promise?”

“ALL STUDENTS REPORT TO THEIR COMMON ROOMS WITH THEIR HOUSES, PLEASE,” the headmaster says loudly from the other room, his voice echoing through the hall. There’s subsequently a massive shuffling of chairs as people begin to relocate.

As Artemis is looking over, alarmed, at the loud sound, Leta grabs her hand again, making Artemis flinch at the sudden physical contact. She meets her eyes fiercely, and without another word, she gently navigates their pinkies near each other and hooks them together. Then she pulls Artemis up from a sitting position, letting go of her hand and walking back towards the Slytherin table with new confidence clear in her posture.

Artemis watches her leave, then slips her bag back on her shoulder and scuttles back towards the Hufflepuff group. Her hands are still warm.


	3. Chapter 3

Artemis, age thirteen, stares down at her chest, holding her robes away from the area. Leta, lounging on a pouf in the corner of the abandoned classroom, looks up from her textbook and remarks, “Missy, you can’t make them disappear.”

“I _know_ ,” Artemis huffs, releasing her robes moodily and letting the fabric swish back to its original position. “But I can dream.”

Leta cracks a smile. “Come on, that’s quitter talk.” However, Artemis doesn’t smile back, instead turning around and crossing her arms. “I’m not a quitter if I don’t want to have to wear a stupid bra.” 

“Bras aren’t all that bad,” Leta says earnestly. “Come on, it’s just a part of life.” 

Artemis doesn’t reply, instead beginning to pace. Leta shakes her head and returns to her textbook. But after a minute or so of Artemis’s agitated footsteps on the stone floor, she bursts out, “Leta, did Robert really ask you out to the winter dance?”

A snap as Leta slams her book shut, her face growing beet-red. “Who told you that?”

“I heard it from Tilly, who heard it from Dina, who _apparently_ got it from Robert himself, bragging in History of Magic.” Artemis’s voice is surprisingly bitter. “He’s loony. Why would you go with him?”

Leta seems taken aback. “I never said I _would_ go with him. It was just a shock to be asked at all.”

“He’s going to ditch you,” warns Artemis, her face dour. “I wouldn’t go near him with a ten-foot pole.”

“He’s _nice_ ,” Leta grumbles. “He’s one of the only people in that class that doesn’t call me a freak.” Her tone turns softer. “Yesterday he passed me a note with a little drawing on it of the two of us on a unicorn.”

Artemis looks, if possible, even more stormy. “Oh yeah, like he’d be able to get _near_ one of those.”

“Hey!” Leta snaps. “At least he asked me. It’s not like anyone else would have!” 

Artemis turns away again, the silence between the two of them growing more clammy and claustrophobic by the second. Finally, she says, almost inaudibly, “I would have.”

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said,” Artemis repeats, only fractionally louder, “that I would have asked you to the winter dance.”

All pretenses of anger have dropped from Leta’s face, to be replaced with something unreadable. She leans in closer to Artemis, who still has her back turned. “ _You_?”

Artemis’s fists are clenched, but shaking. When she speaks again, her tone is careful, almost pleading. “I’m--I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, wait.” Leta gets up and slowly approaches her friend, like one would an injured manticore. “Artemis, you’re a _girl_. Girls can’t ask other girls to dances.”

Artemis bows her head even lower, and doesn’t reply. Leta continues, agitated, “Can you imagine what the other students would say? How much _more_ people would hate us for it? Missy, you--you weren’t even planning on going.”

“I _just_ ,” Artemis says tartly, but not disguising the wobble in her voice very well, “thought you should know. Since we’re friends, and since I’m not--since I haven’t really developed yet.” She partially turns around, her smile thin. “Daft idea, I know.”

Leta stares at her friend, who manages to make brief eye contact before yanking her gaze away to the floor. There’s a long, deep silence.

“If I were a boy,” Artemis says finally, “would you go with me?”

Leta looks up at her again. Artemis’s eyes are severe, light blue, her thick brows knit together. Her shoulder-length hair is tucked into the hood of her robes, and she’s kicking the floor in an instinctive habit that Leta recognizes as bashfulness.  


“I guess so,” she gets out. “You’d wear--boy’s dress robes and everything?”

Artemis’s face lights up a tiny bit. “And I’d put on a nice waistcoat with a bow tie.”

“Trousers,” Leta continues thoughtfully, “and suspenders?”

“Yes. And maybe I’d even be able to cut my hair,” Artemis ventures, then looks like she’d like to take that statement back. “I mean--I would obviously grow it back afterward, but--”

“I can totally see it!” A big grin breaks onto Leta’s face, and she reaches out to take Artemis’s hands eagerly. “Then it’s settled. You can wear all that to the winter dance!”

Artemis’s eyes grow wide. “What?”

“I’ll go with you, dummy,” she says, squeezing her friend’s habitually cold hands. “You’ll be my friend from a different school. No one’s gonna miss Artemis Scamander, because she’s not even going to leave her room for the night, right?”

Artemis appears lost for words. A blush is creeping onto her freckled face, and she opens her mouth a little bit as if to attempt a reply, then shuts it again, her gaze resting on their clasped hands. Finally, she manages, “You’d really do that for me?”

Leta’s face is equally pink. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d go with you over Robert any day.” She giggles. “At least you know how to use deodorant.”

Artemis smiles, shy, then begins to giggle nervously. Leta continues to snicker, and soon both of them are leaning closer to each other, laughing uproariously together, their hands tightly intertwined. 

Finally, Leta releases Artemis’s hands, wiping tears from her eyes. She grins at her friend, all the tension in the room gone. “So, what’s your name for the night going to be?”

Artemis pauses, looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought for a moment before she proclaims, “My middle name. Newton.” At Leta’s incredulous look, she hesitates and adds, “Is it too silly? Does it sound….too fake?”

Leta shakes her head. “Newton...it’s not bad. No one will ever guess. Or…” A mischievous grin breaks on her face. “How about Newt?”

\---

Artemis stands in front of the mirror in the locked girls’ bathroom, breathing heavily. On the floor surrounding her are hangers full of clothes--button-up shirts, waistcoats, pairs of pants. Leta, to her left, puts her hand on her hip and says matter-of-factly, “You need to do something about your tits.”

Wincing at the near-bursting buttons on her shirt, Artemis mumbles, “Agreed.” Beginning to unbutton it, she adds as an afterthought, “Do you have any bandages?”

Leta digs through her bag for a moment before pulling out a swathe of white, stretchy fabric. Handing it to Artemis, she turns the other way as she peels the shirt off.

After a moment, Artemis begins to wind the bandage roll around her chest, handing it to Leta when she’s done. There’s a strange expression on her face as Leta snips the end of the roll and tucks it into the rest of the bandages at Artemis’s side. 

“There,” she says, satisfied, as Artemis raises and lowers her shoulders gingerly. “If you’re careful, it seems like that’ll hold.”

Artemis is still staring at her reflection in the mirror, openly wondrous. She brings her hand gently to her mostly flat chest and draws it down the surface of the bandages towards her bellybutton, then says in awe, “It’s like they’re gone.”

“Remember,” Leta reminds her, “It’s just for the dance, so don’t get carried away. This can’t be good for your ribcage.”

She nods, still looking at her reflection, then bends down slowly and reaches for the black shirt. This time, it buttons easily over the flatness, and even leaves a little room. Tucking the shirt into her slightly big trousers, she snaps the suspenders onto her belt. 

Leta giggles as her friend stands up a little straighter, legs a little farther apart. “Well, I’ll be,” she says. “You really do look the part, Missy.”

Turning to Leta with strange, fiery eyes--eyes lit up with unbridled joy for the first time Leta can remember--her friend says proudly, “Please, call me Newt.”


End file.
